


Valentine's

by greenpantstuesday (playmelikeyourstratovarius)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance, nice guy victor trevor, victor is not an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:18:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1231279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playmelikeyourstratovarius/pseuds/greenpantstuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A telling of the three most important Valentine's Days in the life of young Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2014

**Author's Note:**

> In this chapter, Sherlock is about 20, and Victor is about 22. They've been together about a year and a half at this point.

I've got a surprise for you. VT

A surprise? Oh, do elaborate.-SH

I can't elaborate, you loon. It's a /surprise/. A Valentine's Day Surprise. VT

Oh, God. You don't really celebrate that ghastly tradition, do you?-SH

Sometimes, when I've got someone special to celebrate with. VT

You bastard. Okay, okay. I'll get you something too.-SH  
Did you get me a romance thing or a sex thing?-SH

You don't need to get me anything. VT  
I know you don't like to celebrate, and I'm fine with that. VT

Victor. I will. It's for the man I begrudgingly love.-SH  
I need to know if you got me a sex thing or a romance thing, so I can get the other.-SH

You say begrudgingly, but I've heard around you're pretty giddy over it. x VT

Shush, now.-SH

I think I'd rather like to climb onto the dorm roof and scream it to all of London. VT

That Sherlock Holmes loves you?-SH

That Sherlock Holmes loves me. VT

He does. An awful lot. And he's going to get you a sex thing for Valentines Day.-SH

Good, because I got a romantic thing. VT

Oh, good. Sex things are far easier to buy.-SH  
How do you feel about lingerie?-SH

I think I'd love to see those long legs of yours all wrapped up in pretty stockings. VT

My legs shaved, I assume?-SH  
All smooth for you.-SH

That'd be lovely. VT  
Christ, you're so good to me. x VT

Your wish is my command. I'll invest in some tight lacy underwear too.-SH

You are absolutely beautiful. VT

And you're a pervert. -SH  
You're gorgeous, Victor.-SH

Can't hold a candle to you, love. VT

Don't be stupid.-SH

\----------------------------------------

I'm sorry that Mycroft disapproves of us.-SH

Why are you sorry? He's just being a bit stubborn. VT

Because he's a homophobic twat.-SH

He'll get over it, eventually. VT

He'd better.-SH  
Am I allowed to cheat and give you your present early?-SH

Absolutely not. I've got the whole evening planned out for us. VT

:( -SH

I have a specific time frame planned out for sex, and that is after we get home from dinner, and after we have a glass of wine while I give you my gift. VT

Fine. But this had better be the best sex of my life.-SH

\----------------------------------------

So what's the first thing on our schedule?-SH

First is that I freeze my arse off outside the science centre waiting for you to finish your last class of the day. VT

Poor thing.-SH  
You know, you could sneak into the centre and find me.-SH

Or, I could sit in the lobby of the centre where I've just been handed a nice cup of hot cocoa in a little pink cup. VT

You're too into pink for your own good.-SH  
Which is why that's the colour of almost everything I bought.-SH

It's pink because it's Valentine's, not because I chose it. :P VT

Never do that emoticon again.-SH

I'll do it all I want to. :P :P VT

Jesus Christ. Why are /you/ that man I've laid my affections upon?-SH

Because I'm charming, and I make you feel like /you/ again. VT  
At least, that's what people have told me you've told them. :) VT

I need someone like that.-SH  
You know how bad things were before...-SH

Of course I do. And I don't plan to let things get that bad again. You don't deserve it, Sherlock. VT

I thought that I did.-SH  
At the time.-SH  
Maybe that's why Mycroft doesn't approve. He's scared I'll get heartbroken and do something awful again.-SH

I'm not going to break your heart, Sherlock. It's been a year and half, I'm sure if it was going to happen, it would have happened already. x VT  
He'll get used to me. VT

I love you so much.-SH  
If you break my heart, I swear to God.-SH

I love you more. VT

Improbable.-SH

If I break your heart - which I WON'T!!!! - I'll fully accept all of the wrath you rain down upon me. VT

And if you die? By natural or unnatural circumstances? What about that sort of heartbreak?-SH

I...I'm not sure. But I've been doing my best to stay healthy and safe, if that helps to put your mind at rest. VT

Well. Don't you dare die on me, Victor Trevor.-SH

Not in a million years, Sherlock. x VT

If you died, I'd probably go mad. Turn into one of those mad scientists.-SH

Dear lord. I can picture that almost. Hunched over a microscope in your flat, performing experiments on human body parts or...or something. VT  
I promise I won't die and do that to you. VT

And your skeleton would be in the corner of the room.-SH

Not the whole thing, that's ghastly. Just like...a piece, or something. VT

The skull. On the mantlepiece like a morbid Christmas decoration.-SH  
Maybe I'd talk to it.-SH

Christ, stop, this is all such terrible Valentine's talk. :( I'll do my very, absolute best not to die any time in the near future. Swear. VT

And I the same. I won't die on you, mon cher.-SH

:) I love you. VT  
Oh! Do you want to hear something? VT

Depends on the something.-SH

It's something that made me laugh a bit. VT

Tell me!-SH

No one believes that I'm actually taller than you. VT

It's really obvious, though. We're two tall gays.-SH  
And you're signifigantly... bigger. In all fields. ;) -SH

You little tart. ;) We were talking about it at lunch today, myself and my group of friends from my gothic literature class, and they all said that you have got to be taller than me. VT

I like being /your/ filthy tart.-SH  
You don't really have the arrogance of a tall man.-SH

Oh, I know you do. VT  
No, I don't. I was very short until I was almost finished with secondary. VT

That's adorable.SH  
I need to get pictures.-SH

When we have a few days off for holiday, I should take you to my parent's house. You can ask my mum to bring out the albums. VT

Believe me, I will.-SH  
I think I deserve to see short, squat Victor Trevor.-SH

Oi, I wasn't /squat/. I've always been really thin. VT

I'll believe it when I have proof.-SH  
I'm leaving the lab now. You're still in the lobby?-SH

Of course I am. Waiting for my lovely Valentine to come down and greet me. VT

You're insufferable.-SH

But sickeningly sweet. :) VT

Yes. Sickeningly so. x-SH

Sherlock wasn't sure what he was expecting when he got out of the lift, but he certainly wasn't expecting Victor to be standing right outside the door with a bouquet of the reddest roses he'd ever seen cradled in his arm. The adoring smile that he got from the other man sent a shiver down his spine, and he blinked a few times before managing a smile back, shuffling out into the lobby. "Are these for me?" he asked softly, eyes dropping now to the roses.

"Of course they are," Victor said, carefully handing over the flowers before pulling Sherlock a bit closer. "Happy Valentine's." He leaned down, and pressed a gentle kiss against Sherlock's lips, before standing upright and holding his hand out for Sherlock's.

Sherlock felt warm, and happy, and better than he had in years. Somehow, Victor had the strange ability to make every day better than the last. It was something he wasn't sure he'd ever understand, but it was certainly something he had learned very quickly to accept. His hand slid into his partner's and their fingers laced together tightly as they left the building, walking down the snowy footpath towards the residence side of the uni campus.

"I'm going to walk you back to your room, so you can get changed, and then I'll pick you up again around six, for our reservation at seven. Does that sound alright?"

Dark blue eyes turned down to look at him, and Sherlock smiled, nodding. "Am I allowed to know where we're going, at the very least? So I know what to wear?"

Victor chuckled. "No, I can't tell you where, but I can tell you that we're going somewhere that you don't need to dress to the nines for."

"Need I wear a tie?"

"No tie required."

"Good." Sherlock hated ties. They felt like some sort of strange torture device, sitting around his throat. He never could understand why Mycroft liked wearing them so much, but he just supposed that came with being the older, more posh, twat of the family.

"I really hope you like your gift," Victor murmured, almost looking worried about it. Poor sod.

"I'm sure that you got me something that is at least adequate, and if you haven't, it's fine. This holiday is stupid and commercialised all to hell, anyway."

Victor looked down at him again, gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Warmth radiated up Sherlock's forearm as the older man spoke. "I put a lot of thought into this gift, Sherlock, it's important to me that you like it." His voice was soft and careful.

"I will," he replied, almost mindlessly. "Of course I will."

Victor smiled. "You'd better," he replied playfully.

\----------------------------------------

Dinner was fantastic. Victor had taken him to the brilliant French place across town from the school, and Sherlock had been shocked when they'd arrived, simply because he thought a place like that would be extremely hard to find reservations for. Especially on this god-awful holiday. There had been wine, and food that was so delicious that Sherlock finished his portion, and plenty of holding Victor's hand across the table and watching as his lover's thumb swept gently over his knuckles in the flickering candlelight. As much as he complained about the holiday, Sherlock was most definitely enjoying himself here.

After they got home - home was Sherlock's dorm room for them, as Sherlock didn't have a roommate and they therefore didn't have to worry about being courteous - Victor sat on the little futon in the room and poured them each a glass of wine from the bottle they'd brought back with them.

"Are you ready for your gift?" Victor asked, turning to look at Sherlock, who had wormed himself right up against Victor's side and rested his curly brown head on Victor's shoulder.

"Absolutely," came Sherlock's reply, in the most bored tone of voice he could muster. "The sooner we get that over with, the sooner we can get to sex."

Victor snickered, and disentangled himself from Sherlock's limbs, crossing the room and picking up his bag, digging through it to the bottom, and then fiddling around for a bit longer. When he pulled his hand out, it was holding a small box wrapped in tissue paper. Sherlock blinked, feeling heat rising to his face. He immediately wrote it off as it being the wine, absolutely sure that he wasn't seeing what he thought he was seeing.  
Victor sat back down beside him, let Sherlock nestle in close, and then placed the purple tissue paper-wrapped box so it was balancing precariously on one of Sherlock's knobby knees. Sherlock stared at it a moment, and then looked up with questioning ice-blue eyes.

"Open it," Victor laughed, as easy-going as always, taking the wine glass from Sherlock and freeing up both hands.

Sherlock blinked a few more times, and then picked up the small box. He slowly tore off the paper, tossing it to the cluttered floor carelessly. He lifted the lid of the hinged box, eyes widening when he saw a plain black band. His eyes flicked between Victor's gaze and the ring in the box for several minutes, before he spoke. "What is this?" he croaked, suddenly overwhelmed by emotion that he hadn't been expecting in the slightest. He lifted his fingers and wiped at his eyes, surprised to find them wet.

"It's...well, it's a ring," Victor started slowly, hand slowly tracing along the curve of Sherlock's waist. "I'm not...asking you to marry me, just yet. I want to wait on that, til we're both finished with uni, you know, whatever. I just...it's kind of a promise, that it's just going to be you and me til then."

Sherlock looked up, frowning. "Don't be stupid." Victor's face dropped so fast that Sherlock couldn't even take a moment to let the joke set in a bit. "Of course it'll just be you and me. Who else could I find that would love me as much as you do?" The light was back in those dark blue eyes. "Who else would make me feel the way you do, Victor?" The last sentence was said softer, an intimate whisper between lovers. It could have been suggestive, but they both knew what it meant.

He pulled the ring out of the box with careful fingers, and pressed it into Victor's palm, tossing the box away. Taking the hint, the older man slowly slid the band onto Sherlock's ring finger. Sherlock took the glass from Victor's hand and sat it on the table, before moving himself into his lover's lap, nudging his nose against the gentle curve of Victor's.

"D'you want to go to bed with me?" Sherlock nearly purred, finger circling into one of Victor's golden curls.

"Mm," Victor replied, tilting his head so their lips barely brushed as he spoke. "Only if you promise we save that stuff you bought for the weekend," he rumbled. "I want it to be you and me tonight. No crazy roles, no little accessories."

"You're missing out."

"Not. I've got you, and that's all I need."

That was the last, most heartwarming sentiment that shot through his brain before Victor's lips were on his, and it was entirely too hard to focus on anything but that feeling.


	2. 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two years have passed since the last chapter. Sherlock is 22, and Victor is 24. They've been together for three and a half years now, about, and have decided that moving into a flat together would be the best and most logical next step.

Sherlock had always despised moving. It was boring, tedious, physical work that left his body aching and tired, and distracted him from doing more important things, like experiments and reading and things. This time was no different, of course. Not even the destination could change how Sherlock felt about picking up boxes and furniture and putting them down. They were lucky a few of Victor's mates were helping them.

Victor had thought that, since they were both done with uni and still in their very committed, very amazing relationship, that they should live together. Sherlock hadn't objected when the idea was presented, and had gotten gradually more excited about it as time had passed. Living together seemed the next logical step for them to take, as they'd been together for nearly four years now.

After Victor had waved all his friends off from the front door, he came and sprawled onto the couch, head resting on Sherlock's thigh. Sherlock gently combed his fingertips through the fair curls.

"D'you know what day it is?" Victor said, eyes fixed on Sherlock's, a little smirk on his lips.

"The day we finally acted on our desire to be around each other all the time?" There was a small smile playing at the corner of Sherlock's mouth when he said it. Victor was perhaps the only human being that he could tease and not have to worry about being offensive or rude.

"Yes," Victor said, leaning up and pecking Sherlock's jaw. "But it's also Valentine's."

Sherlock sighed, and rolled his eyes playfully, shaking his head a bit. "What great plans have we in store tonight, Mister Trevor?"

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see, Mister Holmes," Victor replied, pushing himself to a full sitting position. He leaned in, pressing a firm kiss to Sherlock's temple, and then stood, heading off toward the bedroom. "I'm going to get changed, and then we can get going."

Sherlock smiled, watching Victor walk away with his chin propped against the back of the sofa, sighing. Last year hadn't been anything special, just dinner and wine and so much sex that Sherlock had still had a limp when he went to visit his parents the following weekend. They hadn't done anything outrageously special since that night two years ago, when Victor had taken him to that amazing French restaurant and given him that simple little ring that was so significant to him.

He turned to stare at the wall, fingers of his right hand fidgeting with the ring around his finger. Part of him really wanted to figure out where they were going and what they were doing, but the other part liked the idea of a surprise. Normally, of course, he would hate surprises, but he knew Victor would never do anything to make him unhappy or uncomfortable. Either way, it was too late for him to even think about what the night may hold, as Victor reappeared at that moment in a dark-wash pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt, his blonde curls combed neatly.

Sherlock dropped his head back onto the sofa, and Victor placed his hands on both sides, leaning down and giving him a slow, warm upside-down kiss that made Sherlock's toes curl. The blonde pulled away with a sigh, and went to pick up his jacket from the hook near the door. "Come on, we'll be late," he called, and Sherlock got up and followed.

\-----

Victor had driven. He said that it would have spoilt the surprise if he had let Sherlock drive, but Sherlock still sulked the whole way, regardless. When the pulled up outside a large, dome-shaped building, Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Is this..."

"Yeah," Victor answered on a laugh, climbing out of the driver's seat and rounding the car to get to Sherlock. He crooked his arm, and Sherlock slipped his through slowly, still in a state of mild disbelief.

They were at the planetarium. Sherlock had mentioned off-handedly once that to Victor that he'd really like to see the planetarium, that he'd really like to learn about the stars and constellations and planets and galaxies and all of it, and Victor had promised him that one day he would take him there. He walked with the man into the building, and watched as he talked to the mate behind the desk, who waved them through. Apparently Monday afternoons were slow times for planetarium business, and they were going to be able to have the whole show to themselves.

Victor led Sherlock down a row, and they sat down in big, comfy theatre-style chairs. Victor showed him how to lean his chair nearly the entire way back so they could look up at the ceiling, and then laced his fingers through Sherlock's giving them a tight squeeze as he shifted a bit closer. Throughout the entire little show, Victor was whispering in Sherlock's ear and pointing with his empty hand, letting Sherlock share in his knowledge of astronomy. It was nice, and it was stimulating - the perfect sort of date for Sherlock, and the perfect way to spend such an inane holiday.

When it was all said and done, the projection on the ceiling shut off, but the lights didn't come up. Victor didn't move, so Sherlock stayed put as well. There was a few beats of silence, until it became too much for Sherlock to bear, and he broke it.

"Victor," he murmured, tapping his thumb against the other man's. "It's over now, are we going to leave?"  
  
"Not quite," Victor whispered back, sitting up a bit. It was then that the lights came up just a bit, just casting a dim, warm glow over the two of them. Victor was looking down at him with a look that made Sherlock feel... _squishy._ "I've got something I want to talk to you about. Right. Well." He stopped, cleared his throat, then nodded and carried on. "We've been together for three years and seven months now. We have a home together, and we have plans for the future together, and we both know that we're going to love each other forever. You're all I want out of life. I could lose my job, the flat, everything, as long as I still had you to wake up to every morning, and go to bed next to every night."

"Victor..."

"No, shush, Sherlock, don't break my momentum here." He chuckled, shaking his head. "You're absolutely bloody brilliant, and you're beautiful, and I adore you. So, I've got a little thing that I want to ask you." He started fumbling around in his jacket, pulling something out and setting it on Sherlock's breastbone. "Sherlock Holmes," he said, voice much softer now. "Will you do me the honour of being my husband?"

Sherlock blinked a few times in rapid succession, brain not processing information fast enough for him to even grasp what was happening. He looked down, picking up the small box on his chest and opening it slowly. Inside sat a ring similar to the one already on his finger. It was black, but this one had a strip of platinum running around the centre. It was beautiful.

 _Yes! Absolutely yes, of course yes, yes I'll marry you. I love you more than I've ever been able to love anything in my entire life. You've given me a purpose, a reason for being, you picked me up and dusted me off and made me into a human being again, and I will gladly spend the rest of my life thanking you for that._ Of course, Sherlock didn't realise that none of this was being said out loud, and Victor was starting to fidget, anxious for an answer.

"Sherlock?" Victor mumbled, fingers applying a gentle pressure to his lover's for a moment. He didn't want the younger man to feel like he was being forced into answering too soon, but he knew Sherlock. If let to sit and stew, an answer might not come for hours, maybe even days.

Sherlock blinked again, shook his head, lifted his eyes to look at Victor. His lips parted, and he inhaled as if to speak, but didn't for a few more long moments. "I..." he finally said, mind trying to form sentences as his mouth was trying to speak them. "Sorry, that...I didn't mean to...I meant to say yes." He picked up the box, sat his chair up, examined the ring for a moment, before holding out his left hand and the box out to Victor.

Victor grinned like he was just told the best news of his entire life, and slowly worked the band off of Sherlock's ring finger, slipping it into his jacket pocket, before removing the ring from the velvet box and slowly sliding that one along the long, slender digit. Sherlock barely had a moment to pause and admire the way the band looked on his finger before Victor's fingers were carding through his curls and he was being pulled in for a warm, passionate kiss.

When they pulled apart, he was breathless, and his cheeks were wet with tears. He wasn't sure if they were his own, or if they were Victor's, because Victor was definitely crying, and Sherlock could feel the telltale salty sting in his eyes as well, but it didn't matter. He was happy, and he was with the man he loved more than anything else in the world, and they were _engaged_ , for god's sake.

"We're going to be married," Sherlock breathed dumbly, his fingers finding a home clutching onto the lapels of Victor's jacket.

"We are," Victor confirmed, pulling himself to his feet. "Let's go home, I want to call mum and tell her that you've said yes."

"Did she know you were going to propose?" Sherlock asked incredulously, standing up beside Victor.

"Everyone knew I was going to propose," the blonde laughed, leading Sherlock out of the planetarium by the hand, waving at his friend behind the ticket counter on the way.

"How did I not know?"

"Were you expecting it?"

"Well..." Sherlock paused to think about it. Nothing had really changed. They'd been just as they always had been, with a bit of added stress due to moving and things. "No, I suppose I wasn't. I just didn't think...I didn't think you thought we were at that level yet. I didn't think it was the right time."

"There is no right time," Victor laughed, and oh, how Sherlock loved that sound. "You just wake up one morning and realise that the person beside you is the one that you want to be with for the rest of your life, and then decide, 'well, in for a penny, in for a pound.'"

Sherlock smiled, nodding happily and even going as far as to swing their arms a bit as they made their way back to the car. Victor grinned, too, playing along, though Sherlock quit the airy act when Victor threatened to start skipping his way down the walk. Engaged or not, he would turn right around and walk the other way if such nonsense as skipping started.  
When they were tucked safely back in the car, Victor turned to Sherlock, and kissed his nose. "Shall we call your mum, or my mum first?"

"Did _my_ mum know, too?"

" _Everyone_ knew."

"My mother is usually such a chatterbox, I don't understand how she didn't let it slip to me sometime since you told her," Sherlock grumbled, pulling out his mobile and scrolling through his contacts to find his parents' home phone number.

"I threatened her by telling her we wouldn't come home for Christmas if she even let on that I had something planned."

Sherlock chuckled, dialing the number. They had a nice conversation on speakerphone with Sherlock's mother and father. Many congratulations and thanks were thrown around, and soppy expressions of love came from Mummy Holmes. Sherlock pretended to be disgusted and embarrassed, of course, but he was, in all actuality, happy that his mother and father had come to terms with the fact that Victor was something permanent, something that was going to be there at every twist and turn.

They hung up as soon as they pulled up in front of their flat, and managed to make their way upstairs while both of them were busting up laughing over Victor's impression of Sherlock's mother.

As soon as they were upstairs, and into the flat, Victor had Sherlock's back against the door and was snogging him senseless. Sherlock assumed that it was leftover adrenaline from the proposal mixed with overwhelming happiness of the acceptance. That was his fuel, at least. He threw his arms around the taller male's shoulders, pulling him closer, arching his lithe body so he could be against as much of Victor as was possible given their current location.

It was Sherlock who pulled back first. "Don't we need to call your mum?" he asked breathlessly, eyes fluttering closed as warm lips slowly trailed down to the curve of his neck. "She'll be sitting near the phone with bated breath, just waiting for us to call and tell the news."

"Sod my mum," Victor replied, mumbling into the turn of Sherlock's shoulder. "She can wait until morning. I've got more important things to do."

"Like?" Sherlock whispered, lips pressed right against Victor's ear. He felt the shudder of the blonde's shoulders under his hands, and next he knew, he was being carried off towards their bedroom.

Sherlock was unsure about what the future might hold for them, and he had no idea how he was to even go about planning a wedding, but there was one thing that he was absolutely sure of.

He had never been this happy in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. This chapter was fluffy and happy as well! :D Next chapter = not so happy...angst ahoy!


	3. 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is about 23 in this one. Victor, 25.

Sherlock couldn't even remember what the fight had been about.

He was trying to remember now, with his fingers shaking as he tied his thin, black tie. He'd always hated ties. Victor had never made him wear one, not even when they went to the poncy French place that he liked so much. Victor had never asked him to do anything he didn't want to do. But he was shrugging into a black jacket and carefully buttoning the front, he was carefully sculpting his hair and making sure he didn't look like he'd been crying for days, he was sliding on shiny black leather shoes and doing up the laces almost painfully tightly, all for Victor.

"I don't want to go," he whispered to the mirror.

It would be open-casket, Victor's father had decided. Mister Trevor had thought that those near and dear to his son would like to see Victor one last time. Before his body was stowed under the ground to rot. The thought nearly choked Sherlock, made his vision go blurry again, made his knees buckle under him. He made it to the edge of their bed - his bed, his mind snapped bitingly - before putting his head into his hands and letting a few more tears run down his face. This wasn't meant to happen. He was only twenty-two, he wasn't meant to be burying his significant other so soon. They were supposed to live for the rest of their lives together. Sherlock was supposed to have hope and be happy and feel loved with Victor until the day that he died.

"What do I have now?" he shouted to the empty room, voice thick with tears. Victor had been his everything. Victor had meant more to him than his family, especially when his family expressed distaste towards his relationship. Victor had been his days and his nights, the one constant he had always had. For four years, Victor had made him feel happy. Normal. Now there was nothing to wake up to in the mornings, and nothing to lay down with at night.

Now there was nothing.

Sherlock heard a car pull up outside, and he glanced out the window. Mr. and Mrs. Trevor, there to whisk him off to what would always be the worst few hours of his life. He didn't want to go. Didn't want to see. There would be more tears there, but those would be in public. Those would be for everyone to see. He didn't want that. Only Victor was allowed to watch him cry. Because Victor's arms were strong and warm, Victor's arms were the shelter to every storm that ever crashed over Sherlock, Victor's arms were home for him - more of a home than he had ever had.

He slid his long coat up unto his shoulders. The Belstaff had been his big birthday gift from Victor. He considered for a long while not wearing it today, but it seemed fitting, and seeing Victor for the last time in this coat would be the motivation and drive to wear it all the time. It would have memories attached, memories of his dear Victor.

He exited the building onto the street and slid into the back seat of the car silently. Victor's mother turned around and placed her hand gently on his knee, and he looked up at her, gave her the ghost of a smile, before turning to look out the window to watch the scenery pass by in a blur of grey.

The service was long and boring, and Sherlock was itching for his chance to walk up to the heavy maple box at the front of the church. He needed to see. He needed the finality, the closure that came with seeing the body of someone you love laid out, primly posed and dressed in their Sunday best, just to be lowered six feet under.

He waited until the church cleared out before he stood, rubbing at his eyes as he made his way forward. He took a deep, shaky breath, trembling as he stepped closer. What he saw made his stomach turn, made his heart clench. This was his Victor, Sherlock knew that. But the face was so devoid of expression, the skin a sickly pale coloured carefully by rouge to appear more alive and healthy. Why did people do that, put makeup on the dead? What was the point? Everyone there knew that Victor was dead, and for some reason, the fact that someone had gone out of their way to make Victor look like he was just taking a jolly little nap in the casket made Sherlock angry. Fresh tears made themselves known on his face, and he dropped to his knees, pounding a fist hard against the casket stand until Victor's father came and dragged him away.

The long, slow procession was almost too much for Sherlock to bear, especially since the Trevors' car got to ride right behind the hearse, decked out with flowers, the long, maple box very visible in the window. Sherlock realised he must have been looking rather green around the gills when the window beside him rolled down slowly. He glanced up, catching Mrs. Trevor's eyes. She gave him an empathetic smile, before turning front again. Sherlock gulped in cold air, trying to soothe his nausea and calm his nerves.

Once they arrived at the plot that had been prepared for Victor - an awning and a few rows of chairs around a deep, rectangular hole in the ground - Sherlock started shaking. It started in his hands, and then traveled through him until he thought his knees would buckle beneath him. Mr. Trevor offered Sherlock his chair, and clapped the brunette gently on the back as he slowly sank into it. Mrs. Trevor reached for his hand and gripped it tight, smoothing over the back of it with her other hand. It was a bit relieving to know that he wasn't the only one who got clammy when upset.

There was a bit more speaking now, and Sherlock pretended to listen, but his eyes were fixed on the casket - now closed - perched on the mechanism that would lower it slowly into the ground. As the closing bit of the ceremony, guests stood and collected a handful of dit from the piles to either side, and tossed it down onto the lid of the coffin, sending off the deceased with love and good thoughts.

Sherlock wanted to throw himself down into that hole.

He stood there last, dirt sticking to the sweat on his palms. Everyone else had long since left, and people were cleaning up the little tent and the chairs. The men who were being paid to shovel the dirt back into the hole and fill it were just standing around, not wanting to rush Sherlock. He was sure they noticed the ring on his hand, the way he looked utterly decimated. Slowly, he turned his hand palm down, and pried his hand open, one finger at a time, dropping the clods of dirt down. They hit a bare patch of wood, and made a horrible hollow drumming noise that made Sherlock want to vomit. He turned away from the hole, nodded at the workers surrounding him, and then strode off towards the Trevors' car, so they could take him to his parents' house. He couldn't face the flat now.

\-----

It was nearly four in the morning, according to Sherlock's watch, and the night was awfully cold, but this was where he needed to be. He sat wrapped in a blanket on the freshly-placed dirt mound of Victor's grave, back resting against the tombstone, thermos of hot coffee clutched between his hands. He knew that they all knew he was going to come here, he knew that someone would come looking for him sooner or later, but there was no shame in being found here. He wasn't afraid of being here. Here was where Victor was.

Sherlock felt the tears dancing just behind his eyes, felt the burn of salt, but nothing came out. Perhaps he had cried all the tears he could cry for Victor. Perhaps it would just be painful mourning, the sort of dry mourning that keeps one in bed in the morning, the sort of mourning that drowned out everything else in one's life until there was nothing but sorrow and desperately wishing things could have been different.

Sherlock couldn't even remember what the fight had been about. Something about working too much, not seeing each other enough. Between cases, and Victor's job at the school, there had been almost no time for them to be together, and it had put a strain on the relationship.

 _Just leave, if you're leaving,_ Sherlock had said. _Everyone else has left me, and I wouldn't expect you to be any different!_

Victor had stormed out of the flat at two in the morning, to walk and clear his mind.  
Victor had been threatened at knife point, but had left his wallet at home.

Victor had been shivved in the kidney, and had bled out before someone found him.

Sherlock knew it was all his fault.

Footsteps approached behind him, but Sherlock's eyes remained glued to the pale, turned-up dirt beneath him. Not even when finely-tailored trousers slid into view did Sherlock look up.

"Mummy is worried sick," said a voice from somewhere above him. Sherlock just shrugged silently. He couldn't remember saying a word since the funeral. It didn't really matter if he had, he supposed. Victor was the only one who really listened. "You need to come home, little brother. You'll catch you death."

"Good," Sherlock bit out, and his voice was croaky and cracked, sorrow given sound.

"Sherlock..."

Sherlock didn't say anything, because there was nothing to say. This had been crippling, absolutely devastating, and of course Mycroft didn't understand. Mycroft had never let another human being as close as Sherlock had let Victor. Victor had completely disarmed him, pried him open down to the core and stroked his very soul. The elder Holmes couldn't even handle being around people for more than a few moments.

"I told you. It's better not to get involved," Mycroft said, and then did something that surprised Sherlock entirely. He sat down on the ground as well. Not on the dirt - the dirt was sacred, the dirt was Victor - but on the grass off to the side of the plot. He laid his umbrella across his lap and stared at Sherlock. Sherlock stared at a tree off in the distance. "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. It is a chemical defect, found in the losing side." A pause, waiting for a reaction. There was none. "You let him in, you let him see parts of you that should never be seen by another human being. He stripped you down, and left you vulnerable."

Mycroft spoke as if it was Victor's fault, as if the sweet, kind man that had made Sherlock feel like the most loved person in the universe would choose to just waltz out of his life. Sherlock shook his head. "It isn't his fault that I'm alone now. It's mine." His voice was weak, but the point was firm.

"It would be better if we never got into another situation like this, wouldn't it?" Mycroft asked, shocking Sherlock yet again by reaching out and touching him this time.

"Yes," Sherlock said absently. "I suppose it would." Not that he was thinking of being in this situation again. Victor was his one and only. There would never be another like him.

Mycroft stood, brushing himself off and helping Sherlock to his feet as well. The elder Holmes led the way back to the car, with Sherlock dragging his feet and shuffling along behind.

\-----

_1 May_

Sherlock walked slowly down the flagstone path of the cemetery, right fist clenched tightly. He found the grave he was looking for easily. The first week had held many night visits, and the muscle memory was easy to access in the recently built up rooms of his mind palace. There was thin grass growing now over the dirt mound in front of the ash grey stone.

He knelt, opening his hand to reveal the black and platinum band that Victor had given to him. He bent down, and started digging, going until he was nearly a metre down. It had to be deep enough that it wouldn't get eroded away. It had to be deep enough that it couldn't be stolen. The ring was the last bit of sentimental garbage he had left from his time with Victor, and it seemed only fitting that he bury it with his dead lover's body. What a metaphor.

He pushed the ring down into the hole he had created, and then packed the dirt in tightly. He sat there, on his knees, with his coat flapping a bit in the breeze. Slowly, though, he unfolded himself and stood up straight. "Goodbye, Victor Trevor," he said firmly as he turned away.

He wouldn't forget. Oh, no, he could never forget. It would just have to be stored away, deep down in, somewhere that he couldn't easily access it. Sitting in the back seat of his parents' car, he started sorting through things, removing all traces of Victor, carrying boxes and boxes of them down a dark, eerie, unkempt hallway to a door. A door that opened to an exact replica of the flat he had shared with Victor. He closed and locked the door, and dropped the key somewhere on the way out of his mind palace.

And suddenly, he couldn't even remember why this had all hurt so bad in the first place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how I feel about this chapter. It was written at 5AM when I was totally emotionally devoid. Sorrynotsorry if it made you sad.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [missedyoumoriarty.tumblr.com. (:](http://missedyoumoriarty.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was super fluffy, yay! :D the next one is, too, don't worry, darlings.


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